


With Broad Strokes and Shades of Grey

by Jonaira



Series: Sketching Life (or the How's and Why's of everything Steve Rogers) [3]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Artist Steve Rogers, Christmas, Christmas Eve, Christmas fic, Comfort, Crack Treated Seriously, Crack and Angst, Fluff and Crack, Fluid Timelines, Gen, Mild Angst, Nostalgia, Post-Captain America: The Winter Soldier, Pre-Captain America: The First Avenger, Some Humor, Steve Feels, Tony Is a Good Bro, Winter, Wordcount: 1.000-5.000
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-11
Updated: 2015-07-11
Packaged: 2018-04-08 19:07:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,416
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4316256
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jonaira/pseuds/Jonaira
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Steve has a love/hate relationship with winter. Bucky may or may not be Jack Frosts' long lost brother. Tony is mature and likes snow angels.<br/>The Avengers sing Jingle Bombs (by Jeff Dunham). Less humor, more emotion.<br/>Drabble/Vignette style fic exploring the how's and why's of Steve's thing for and against  winter.</p>
            </blockquote>





	With Broad Strokes and Shades of Grey

**Author's Note:**

> This takes place after the events of the Winter Soldier, during that second Christmas after the Avengers Assemble. Check out Jeff Dunham's song Jingle Bombs (Akhmed the Dead Terrorist). Really sets the mood for the nativity :)  
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=wskT6YfVB6E

Steve loves the winter.

Post-serum Steve. Post-Defrost into the next century Steve.

The nip of the wind on his cheekbones, the hot-cold bite on his nose. The way he can see, actually _see_ (thanks to the serum) the individual icicles in his crystallized breath. Its sensory overload, winter is. The crunch under his feet, frosted grass in the earlier stages, snow during Christmas. The clean smell in the air (for some reason, it reminds him of the phantom smell of the clean clothes his mother would hang out on the line on the fire escape, snapping in the breeze, phantom because the scent of the detergent wasn’t exactly strong enough to mask the smell of factory fumes always tainting the air in their part of town.)

Pre-Serum Steve wouldn’t have agreed. The cold months would be the bane of the year, for his mother, for Bucky ,both before and after her death and most pressingly, for him before the serum. The two of them, Ma and Bucky, had lived in fear of him catching his death by pneumonia. He had lived in resignation of the possibility or even eventuality.

He’d sigh when the towards the end of autumn, after he’d filled scraps of paper with sketches of children playing in the piles of leaves, the first frosts would turn the grass brittle. His asthma would start acting up and he’d become adept at coughing great wracking coughs near silently into his sleeve by age fifteen so that Ma wouldn’t bolt awake and run to his room to check if he was still alive, and then spend the rest of the night throwing out her back in the old chair by his bed.

Mama Barnes was friendly with the kindly Hindustani Indian lady who lived across the hall, who’d send over steaming masala chai, strong, milky and cardamom flavored whenever Steve came to visit. It worked like magic for him, warming his bones and he and his mother always slept better the next two nights. He looked the family up when he was defrosted, the Tawade’s. He tracked the son who’d been not more than five years old at the time to a house full of his children and grandchildren, still in Brooklyn. The boy (old man) had vague memories but had clearly remembered how they were always short on milk and spices after Steve’s visits to Bucky’s home during the winter months. When Steve had squeezed his eyes shut grimacing at the inconvenience he’d unknowingly caused, Vikram Tawade had laid a wrinkled hand on his shoulder, but squeezed with a strength that belied his age, had laughed and said to him, “Mr. Rogers, from what I remember, you could have easily died during those winters, and if watery tea and less spice in our food meant you made it through the night alive, then I have nothing more to say on the issue. My mother was a good lady, and her kindness grew into Captain America, who saved my world. So forgive me if I tell my grandkids stories of how she saved the Nation with chai.”

He leaves the house, hands warm with a thermos full of the stuff, recipe clutched tight (“Cheers. Don’t forget to pass on the magic” Vikram had said and flashed the dentures) and heart warmer for what the old man had said. The winter would remind him of how much of a burden he was to those who cared for him. It killed a part of him every time she’d have to do it but he’d inherited his stubbornness from his mother, and she would refuse to sleep in her own bed despite his protests. On particularly bad nights she’d sleep at all only when sure his fever was under control, right there in the creaky rocking chair, its rhythmic squeaks their own lullaby.

If there were two good things about winter, they were Bucky and the scenery. Bucky’s enthusiasm was the only thing infectious Steve was happy to catch. He loved the snow, sleighing in Prospect Park, making snow angels, igloo building on the sidewalks. He even liked shoveling the snow out of drive ways, and would visit in the evenings, nose dripping, cheeks red, boots wet and pockets clinking with the tips he’d get for his work around the place. His love for winter balanced out Steve’s extreme dislike of the season.

“You’re a force of nature. No wonder you like the cold.” Steve would tell him half joking. “James Frost, then” Bucky would reply. “Encased in the ice until mission:winter summons.” And he could be, Steve would think, a spirit, a guardian, anything and something unearthly. With his ice blue eyes that changed colour with the sky and pale skin, flushed from the cold, melting snowflakes glittering in his dark hair, Bucky made Steve yearn for pigment paints. But that was a luxury so Steve made do with blue pen ink diluted in water, red and purple even, the once they had experimented with beetroot juice.

He’d spend so much time indoors that he could do portraits of Ma and Bucky with his eyes closed. Really. The rare house guest would leave with a custom charcoal of themselves and by age sixteen his fame had spread to the extent that people from more affluent neighborhoods would make the trip down for a sitting paying him well enough that the heating bills didn’t make Ma have to sit down and massage her forehead, but rather smile. Instead of a steak dinner they bought him better medicines.

When Sam plucks the beetroot out of Steve’s hands which he’d been staring at for way too long and says, “I’m sure its a wonderful specimen man, but emotional attachments to your food isn’t so hot an idea. Especially if it goes ‘what’s for dinner yo’ and you go “You are”. What’s eating you Cap ? No pun intended.”

“My own stomach, now that you ask. Speaking of emotional attachments _Falcon_ , you sure you aren’t trying to give your kinsman a fighting chance at escape are you, because that’s the longest I’ve ever seen a turkey roast.”

Sam shoves Steve (and then tries not to grimace when his knuckles pop, Steve pretending not to notice) and rolls his eyes but doesn’t push him. Sam knows Steve will tell him if he wants to, when he wants to. He’s smart that way. Though he doesn’t know how to convey that really, its fine and he’s there to talk since beetroots apparently flick on his Brooding-Over-Bucky Switch. Its been four months since the Winter Soldier was into the wind, four months of searching fruitlessly. Good thing he’s never really stocked beetroots.

Steve is glad that he and Sam at least got to have Christmas eve supper together, because Dr.Doom is in a festive mood on Christmas Day, and decides to demonstrate with exploding candy canes (“Is he even trying ? He could’ve atleast done marshmallows and then we’d have had smore’s.” Clint.) left all over Manhattan and then it turns out that the Hulk loves, absolutely _adores_ peppermint and ends up eating a quarter of them, that explode harmlessly inside him (“Tickles” he giggles, because apparently, the Hulk giggles) and this is hands ( and feet and heads) down the weirdest Christmas Steve’s ever had. They make it back to the Avenger’s tower in time for a late late lunch, though Bruce is feeling really sick, the poor man absolutely reeking of peppermint and Tony has setup the sound system to play Jingle Bombs on loop and if he hears about Christmas in Iraq, getting shot in the ass and nuts falling off one more time he’s gonna throw someone through a wall, most likely himself. The rest of the team are doing their best to cope, but he knows it’s a losing battle when he catches Natasha absently humming “…where are all the virgins Bin Laden promised me…”

He escapes to the roof then and its just starting to snow. The winds’ strong up here, biting but not bitter, at least not for him. He breathes in the crisp air, head back and eyes closed. The howling wind lets Tony sneak up on him, the strains of ‘..I ! Keeeel ! Youuu !..’ cutting off as he closes the door of the maintenance passage Steve has used to get onto the roof.

“Hey Capsicle, thought that would be your favorite part, why no sing along ? D’you need a campfire, cause we could totally do a campfire, Barton won’t shut up about the goddamn smores anyway, hey Jarvis check up on them would ya, last I saw Nat was using the blowtorch that had gone missing to toast those things and Barton was shish-kebab shooting them.” He holds up an arrow which rightly has four s’mores on it, steaming in the cold air.

And even though Steve _really_ needs some alone time away from jingle bombs and super villains who _really_ need a hobby, he can’t help but beam at Tony and pluck one off the shaft anyway, because that’s just who Stark is and this is his way of saying ‘I’m here if you need me and its okay to be not-okay in front of me.’

“Thank you Tony. And not just for the marshmallow.” And thank heavens for small miracles because Tony gets it, ducks his head and then smiles back, eyes crinkled and face open. They stay there looking at the skyline, finishing off the s’mores. When Tony’s teeth begin to chatter louder than the wind they decide to head back in. Steve breathes in deep, the snow flakes now falling heavier, a layer of powder on the floor of the roof already and resists the urge to catch them on his tongue in front of Tony. Then he thinks, what the hell, and goes for it anyway. Tony chuckles deep, amused but not teasing, and then out of nowhere, lobs a tiny snowball at Steve. They play up there for a while, laughter slightly hysterical at times because its been a crazy day and grown men making snow angels is nothing to comment about at all.

Steve lies in the snow, the cold not uncomfortable while Tony sits up shivering violently through his double hoodies and starts hesitantly,

“So Cap, I was thinking, well, more like wondering really, and you totally don’t have to answer this alright, it’s just me putting it out there and I don’t mean to intrude or anything but the logic doesn’t add up, and I hate when things don’t add up, because then they most likely won’t even divide easy, we’re talking imaginary roots and stuff which don’t play nice practically although theoretically they-”

Steve’s been counting the seconds until Tony needs to breathe, because really lung capacity should be listed as this man’s official superpower next to Genius Level Intellect, and he cracks an eye open now to confirm if indeed , he needs to breathe. Tony’s looking at him. He opens his mouth once , twice and then,

“Okay. Let’s do a retake. It  _is_ a personal question and I don’t wanna make you uncomfortable in the least Steve. It’s just, I’d think you’d hate the ice and cold in general. First there’s the whole frozen for seventy years thing but even so, we’ve read each others' files and I know just how difficult the winters pre-serum would’ve been for you. I mean at first I thought it was just a ‘face down your fear’ kind of deal, what with it bin you. But you really seem to like the chill and whatever philosophy you’re using, you should absolutely write a book, the public will go wild, it’ll be bigger than The Secret and I’m rambling again. Okay.”

Tony looks away then, refusing to meet his eyes. “And then you lost him not too soon after Christmas.”

Steve has sat up by now because yes, it is personal, deeply so, but Tony’s a smart man and Steve trusts him to get it on the first listen, because they’re both similar that way, the reason for Steve’s new found love for winter. He launches in with no preamble and Tony is a good listener.

“Maybe I sound arrogant, but it reminds me of how strong I am. I’m telling you Tony, they can’t put this into a file ‘cause they don’t know it, but if it weren’t for my Mother or Bucky, if either one were missing, I probably would have been dead. I was just so dependent on them and they gave up so much for me, Ma especially.”

Tony’s nods encouragingly, quietly encouraging Steve to continue.

“And there was nothing I could do about it then but now I’m free you know, or maybe you don’t. It’s not that I’d rather not count on people or depend on them, it’s not even about being independent totally, no. I-it’s just that I finally have a choice about whether I want to be dependent on somebody or not, that I’m finally not a slave of the situation.”

Steve unclenches his fists slowly.

“Even with the serum, although I had that autonomy over my body finally, at first I wasn’t anything but a dancing monkey. But then Azzano happened, and things were good with the commandos even though it was war. And then Bucky fell and I woke up not even in control of my own damn time period and everything was gone.”

The wind fills in the silence until Steve gives a tiny smile.

“Having a team I can trust again makes things better. I finally have a say in who I decide to share my problems and burdens with, I can choose who’s strong enough to share the load with-” he looks Tony in the eye then, willing him to understand that yes, telling him all this is a sign that he trusts Tony and respects him enough to share this with him-“After Bucky..fell” he chokes the words out “Peggy told me to give him the dignity of making his own choice.

And this is what it’s about, what it’s become for me now. The cold doesn’t bother me anyway, the opposite, its kinda calming, soothing even, and it reminds me something fierce, that I have the strength to deal with all the exploding candy canes life, Doom, the 21st century, whoever, throws at me.”

Tony’s grin crinkles his eyes then.

“So, do you wanna build a snowman ?”

Steve replies “It doesn’t have to be a snowman.”

**Author's Note:**

> Hang out on Tumblr yo :) www.jonairadreaming.tumblr.com


End file.
